: 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   TALISMAN 


BATTLE 


OTHER     POEMS, 


A.   O.    GANYARD. 


KOCHESTER,  N.  Y.: 

S.  KING,    BOOK   AND   JOB    PRINTER,    DEMOCRAT    OFFICE. 
1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864, 

By  A.  O.  GANYABD, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Northern  District  of  New  York. 


ps 


TO 

MY    WORTHY    AND    ESTEEMED    FRIEND, 

A.  S.  HOOKER, 

WHOSE     FINE     POETICAL    PRODUCTIONS 

HAVE     BEEN     TO     ME     A     SOURCE     OF 

ENJOYMENT    AND    INSPIRATION, 

THIS    VOLUME    IS 

AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 


§.  ©.  6;mprtr. 


759426 


P  11 E  F  A  C  E  . 

AFTER  being  discharged  from  the  service  of 
the  United  States,  and  yet  unable  to  engage  in 
any  business  pursuits,  on  account  of  the  severity 
of  my  wounds,  the  time  unoccupied  by  other 
studies  was  devoted  to  composition — the  result 
of  which,  in  this  little  volume,  is  submitted  to 
the  public. 

The  Poem  from  which  the  volume  receives 
its  title,  is  founded-  on  facts  which  came  under 
my  own  observation,  and  descriptive  of  scenes 
in  which  I  actively  participated  during  a  term 
of  service  exceeding  fifteen  months  in  the  Army 

of  the  Potomac. 

A.  O.  G. 

ROCHESTER,  N.  Y. 

June  1,  1804. 


CONTENTS. 

THE    TALISMAN    OF    BATTLE. 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY,  .....  9 

I.    THE    PARTING,  .  .  .  .  12 

II.    THE     MARCH,  .  .  .  .16 

III.    THE   BATTLE,  .  .  .  .18 

1Y.    THE   AMBULANCE   TRAIN,  .  .  .37 

Y.  ROSALIE'S   LETTER,  ...  45 

YI.    THE   TRUST,      .                  .                  .                 .  .49 

VII.    DARK    DAYS,               .                   .                   .                   .  51 

VIII.    THE    TRUST   FULFILLED,                .                 .  .54 

CONCLUSION,        .....  58 

ARROW    FLIGHTS     OF     SONG. 

HARP-STRINGS   OP   THE    HEART,            .                  .  .63 

THE    ANGEL    OF    SLEEP,                      .                   .                   .  7?. 

COME   TO   THE   WOODS,             .                 .                  .  .78 

NOVEMBER,            .....  80 

MY    MOTHER,                  .                   ...                   .  .84 

TWILIGHT   ON   THE    POTOMAC,       ...  86 

BHE   WAS    EIGHT   AND    I   WAS   TEN,                      .  .         88 

JUSTICE,                 .....  91 

LINES   WITH   A   BOUQUET,      .                  .                 .  .94 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

IN  THE  VALLEY,  OVER  THERE,    .'  *  +  •       9? 

VOLNEY,   .    '  '  .       .    ,  .       .  .   102 

THE  SOLDIER'S  EVENING  PRAYER,        .  »           104 

IN  MEMORIAM, F.  B.  W.,    .           .       '•  "  ."*  .     106 

"  PEACE,  BE  STILL,"        .               .*            :  '.  .               108 

BATTLE   HYMN,         .»<»-'-<                g    •  >          •  .111 

LAUGHTER,           .                  .-•    '      .    .'         '.     .'  ,                113 

THE   KISS   THAT   MY   LOVE   GAVE   ME,                .  .119 


of 


AE  is   the   wildest  framer   of  ro- 
VI 

mances, 

^•s^a    Whose   name  's  recorded  in    the 

book  of  Time, 
And  with   the  keen  points   of  his    bloody 

lances, 

Writes  tragic  facts,  than    fiction    more 
sublime. 

For  every  blood-drop  in  the  crimson  billow, 
Which   sweeps   the   plain    where    battle 

rages  wild, 

A  tear-drop  falls  upon  a  distant  pillow, 
Where  mourns  the  maid,  and  weeps  the 
orphan  child. 


10  THE  TA LISMA N  OF  LA TTLE 

Each  cannon-ball  that  reaps  a  road  to  glory, 
Each  bullet-hole  that  k-ts  a  spirit  out, 

But  forms  a  page  in  some  unwritten  story, 
Which  no  pen  e'er  shall  tell  the  world 
about. 


Theie  's  not  a  corpse  falls  on  the  field  of 

battle, 

But  lies  athwart  some  sun  of  happiness, 
Causing  upon  a  distant  heart  to  settle 
A  shadow  deep,  which  never  shall  grow 
less. 


There  's  not  a  soldier  but  some  fond  one 

cares  for, 

But  has  a  corner  in  some  dibtant  heart, 
But  whom  some  lips  breathe  frequent,  ear- 
nest prayers  for, 

But  some  one  thinks  of  while  the  tear- 
drops start. 


THK  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  11 

The  becoming  stars  upon  the  flags  that  lead 

them, 
The  shining  stripes  of  blended  flame  and 

snow, 
Tell  tales,  and  we  shall  hear  the  angels  read 

them, 
When  NOW  is  lost  in  the  dim  LONG  AGO. 

Dark  War  turns  souls  out  to  be  damned  or 

sainted  ; 
This  is  not  reckoned  when  the  fight  is 

planned ; 

But  let  us  turn  to  where  is  represented 
A  scene  which  all  may  see  and  under- 
stand— 

A  scene  by  War  in  crimson  colors  painted, 
And  illy  copied  by  an  unskilled  hand. 


12  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 


T. 


I    murmurs    of   tbe    woodland 

brook, 
Were     mingling     with    the    evening 

breeze, 

Which  in  its  passage  softly  shook 
The  foliage  of  the  autumn  trees. 
And  touched  to  melody  the  keys 
Of  nature's  instruments  of  sound  ; 
While  in  rich  harmony  with  these 
Mingled  the  notes  of  warblers  round, 
All   plumed   for   flight  to   lands    where 

flowers  abound. 


TALISMAN  of  BATTLE.       13 

Along  the  border  of  the  brook 
A  mourning  maiden  wandered- slow ; 
The  roses  had  her  cheeks  forsook, 
And  lilies  bloomed  there  white  as  snow ; 
The  tears  of  grief  had  ceased  to  flow, 
Because  the  fountains  had  run  dry, 
Or  were  by  weeping  drained  so  low 
That  none  now  escaped  her  mournful  eye, 
To  tell  of  grief  which  but  with  death  might 
die. 


Her  slender  form  was  frail  and  weak, 
Yet  beautiful  indeed  was  she  ; 
The  sweeping  lashes  touched  her  cheek, 
Her  eyes  were  dark  as  dark  could  be, 
And  on  her  lips  you  just  could  see 
The  slightest  tinge  of  rose-hue  fair, 
"While  flowed  unbound,  profuse  and  free, 
Down  o'er  her  soft,  white  shoulders  bare, 
The  curling  billows  of  her  midnight  hair. 
2 


14          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE, 

She  paused  beneath  the  willowy  boughs 
Of  an  old  elm  tree  standing  near, 
Where  but  last  night,  her  lover's  vows 
Were  poured  into  her  listening  ear, 
As  stood  her  young  heart  still  to  hear, 
While  one  strong  arm  was  circled  round 
The  form  of  her  he  held  most  dear  ; 
The  light  breeze  listened  the  sweet  sound, 
Soft  fell  the  moonbeams  as  on  holy  ground. 

He  had  his  soldier  trappings  on, — 
The  burnished  sword  hung  by  his  side, 
And  flashed  as  ever  and  anon 
'Mong  swaying  boughs  down  poured  a 

tide  ,  •;:.•• 

Of  moonlight,  while  his  promised  bride, 
A  shining  braid  of  her  own  hair 
Child-like  about  the  bright  hilt  tied, 
And  whispered, — "William,  leave  it  there 
Till  it  shall  stains  of  war's  red  dew-drops 

bear. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          15 

"  Ton  will  be  brave,  I  know  you  will, 
And  when  this  sword  shines  in  the  fight, 
This  dark  braid  bound  upon  it  still, 
Let  it  remind  you  of  this  night, 
And  of  the  vows  which  here  we  plight, 
And  when  at  length  the  war  is  done, 
Let  THIS,  presented,  prove  your  right 
To  claim  the  heart  which  you  have  won, 
And  hand  in  hand  through  life  we'll  jour- 
ney on." 

But  now  upon  the  light  wind  comes 
The  low  and  distance-mellowed  sound 
Of  martial  trumpets  and  of  drums  ; 
The  maiden  kneels  upon  the  ground  ; 
Low  murmured  accents  float  around  ; 
Her  hands  are  clasped  in  prayerful  woe  ; 
Qtt'rance  distinct  one  sentence  found  ; 
"  Protect  him,  God  1"  then  bowed  she  low, 
And  would  have  wept,  but  tears  refused  to 
flow. 


16  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

The  bugled  music  fainter  grew, 
And  fainter,  and  the  drum's  far  beat 
Kept  dying,  dying,  as  the  few 
Brave  soldiers  with  impatient  feet, 
Moved  out  the  winding  village  street, 
And  round  the  hill,  and  far  away, 
Till  echoes  heard  no  sound  t'  repeat, 
But  silent  on  the  hill-sides  lay, 
And  fell  asleep  with  that  bright  autumn 
day. 


s 


ii. 


we  this  gallant,  warlike  few 
In  all  their  winding  path  pursue, 
"With  weary  feet  in  tedious  tramp, 
Through  skirmish,  battle,  march  and  camp  ? 
Tell  how  they  lessened  day  by  day, 
"While  graves,  like  mile-stones,  marked  their 
way; 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          17 

How  brave  they  were,  how  firm  they  stood, 
Where  BATTLE  stalked  knee-deep  in  blood, 
With  broad  blade  dripping  wet  and  red, 
And  plumes  of  banners  on  his  head  ? 
No,  let  us  turn  one  year-leaf  o'er, 
By  bullets  torn,  and  wet  with  gore, 
Nor  read  the  dark  and  dreadful  words, 
Inscribed  by  bayonet  points  and  swords. 
It  might  be  well  to  pause  and  tell 
Of  those  who  bravely  fighting  fell, 
In  that  dark  year  of  awful  deeds, 
Of  which  no  patriot  tearless  reads  ; 
But  no,  we're  forced  to  pass  it  by, 
Its  deeds  let  unrecorded  lie  ; 
For  on  the  next  red  leaf,  behold, 
A  bloodier  tale  waits  to  be  told. 


2* 


18  TEE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 


III. 


the  holy  hour  of  evening, 
And  the  western  sky  was  bright, 
As  the  sunbeams  were  dissolving 
In  a  mellow  mist  of  light. 

And  far  away  to  eastward 
Dim  groups  of  shadows  met, 

And  above  the  earth  'gan  peeping 
To  see  if  the  sun  had  set. 

And  the  Angel  of  the  Twilight 
Saw  the  deepening  shadows  win, 

As  the  golden  scale  kept  sinking, 
That  had  the  sunshine  in. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          19 

And  the  drops  of  dew  were  rounding 

In  the  lily's  silver  cup, 
As  the  sunset's  rosy  fingers 

Shut  the  diamond  portals  up. 


It  had  been  a  day  of  battle, 

And  king  Death  had  sat  at  feast, 

Since  the  streaking  sunshine  glittered 
On  the  lintels  of  the  east. 


Sword  and  sword  had  met  with  dashing- 
Bayonet  and  bayonet  crossed — 

Hill  tops  had  been  charged  and  taken  ;- 
The  foe  rallied — they  were  lost. 

Scarcely  on  the  field  of  battle 

Had  contended  a  brigade, 
But  had  some  fierce  charge  resisted, 

Or  a  charge  more  fiercely  made, 


20  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

While  the  firm  earth  jarred  and  trembled, 
'Neath  the  tramp  of  hosts  combined, — 

A  line  of  gleaming  steel  in  front, 
And  of  flashing  eyes  behind. 


Swarms  of  bullets  all  the  air  filled 
"With  a  wild,  bewildering  hiss, 

Though  scarce  one  found  living  target 
Where  a  hundred  flew  to  miss. 


Howling  balls  from  gaping  cannon 
Plowed  deep  furrows  in  the  ground, 

And  went  through  the  charging  columns 
With  a  glancing  plunge  and  bound. 

While  the  tear  of  parting  sinews, 
^nd  the  crash  of  breaking  bones, 

Mixed  with  prayers  and  oaths,  were  car- 
ried 
On  a  mighty  flow  of  groans. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          21 

Beat  of  drums  and  wail  of  trumpets, 
Neigh  of  steeds  and  shouts  of  men, 

In  the  dark  air  wildly  mingled, 
As  they  broke  and  formed  again, 


And  the  bleeding,  moaning  wounded, 
On  the  red  earth  crawled  about, 

Seeking  shelter  in  the  trenches 

Which  the  cannon  balls  scooped  out. 


And  the  trundling  wheels  of  cannon, 
As  they  bounded  o'er  the  plain, 

Broke  the  limbs  and  crushed  the  corpses 
Of  the  newly  fallen  slain. 


While  the  empty  musket,  lying 
By  the  soldier  on  the  sand, 

And  the  crimson-bladed  saber, 
In  the  dyiiig  hero's  hand, 


22          TEE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

Under  hoof  and  wheel  were  broken, 
Like  the  brittle  boughs  of  pines, 

And  the  wounded  saw  their  coming, 
And  with  feeble  hands  made  signs  ; 


As  their  pale  lips  faintly  moving 
Just  breathed  out  a  feeble  sound, 

Which,  amid  the  jar  and  tumult, 
Of  this  onward  rush  was  drowned, 


And  the  great  wheels  thundered  o'er  them, 
And  the  steeds'  hoofs  crushing  fell, 

As  their  prayers  for  safety  ended 
In  a  pain-extorted  yell. 

While  the  soldiers  rushing  onward, 

To  the  rapid  roll  of  drums, 
Heeded  not  the  jarring  thunder, 

Nor  the  shell  and  bullet  hums, 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  23 

But  'mid  waving  swords  and  banners, 
Caught  their  leader's  guiding  form, 

And  with  cheer  on  cheer  they  followed, 
As  he  galloped  through  the  storm. 


And  the  living  filled  the  openings, 
And  the  torn  ranks  formed  anew, 

Where  went  down  the  mangled  hundreds. 
As  the  iron  tide  swept  through, 


And  the  fallen  flags  were  lifted, 
And  each  dying  bearer's  eye 

Brightened  as  he  saw  them  flying, 
And  the  roaring  charge  went  by. 

And  in  feebleness  half  rising, 
Many  a  wounded  soldier  pale, 

Watched  the  progress  of  the  battle, 
As  its  thunders  filled  the  rale. 


24:         THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

And  they  oft  to  eager  questions — 
As  th'  unsteady  conflict  veered — 

Told  their  feebler,  dying  comrades, 
In  the  mingled  fight  who  cheered, 


And  each  soldier's  eye  grew  brighter, 
As  the  banner  streamed  in  sight, 

Which  his  own  brigade  was  bearing 
In  the  red  front  of  the  fight. 


But  anon  they  saw  them  waver — 
Struggling  for  the  hill's  red  crown- 

And  their  hearts  kept  rising,  falling, 
As  the  flag  moved  up  and  down. 

Till  a  horseman  wildly  galloped 
O'er  the  field,  into  the  smoke, 

"When  at  once  a  sound  of  trumpets, 
O'er  the  din  of  conflict  broke. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          25 

Sadly  thinned,  but  not  disordered, 
Down  the  hill,  and  'o'er  the  plain, 

Slowly  moved  the  loyal  army, 
Through  a  storm  of  leaden  rain. 


Some  assist  their  fallen  comrades, 
Who,  beside  them,  charging  fell, — 

'Mid  the  gun-born  fog  of  battle, — 
Struck  by  hissing  shot  or  shell ; 


But  the  flying,  crashing  missiles 
In  a  roaring  torrent  pour, 

And  the  wounded  are  re-wounded, 
And  the  torn  dead  mangled  more, 

Till  by  faint  success  elated, 

"  Forward !"  all  the  bugles  sound  ; 
Glancing  bayonet  lines  are  levelled, 

And  a  loud  shout  echoes  round. 
3 


26          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

Down  the  hill  they  press  together, 
And  across  the  bloody  field, 

Then  np  the  hills  behind  which 
Are  the  loyal  hosts  concealed. 


Will  no  angel  bend  to  warn  them 
Of  the  unsuspected  wile  ? — 

Victory  every  eye  has  blinded, 
With  her  bright,  deceitful  smile. 


Lo,  at  once  the  hills  are  shaken 
By  a  mighty  earthquake  roar, 

And  the  shot  rain  down  upon  them, 
While  the  clouds  rise  up  before. 

Booming  terrors  burst  and  thicken  ; 

Faster  flash  the  dense-ranked  guns, 
And  fair  Freedom's  watching  Goddess 

Smiles  upon  her  loyal  sons, 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          27 

As  the  host  of  maddened  foemen, 
On  our  line  of  lightning  pours, 

And  the  red  hills  rock  and  tremble, 
'Neath  a  jarring  flood  of  roars. 


Through  the  clouds  shine  cannon  blazes, 
And  the  crowded  thunders  swell, 

Till  the  flame-wrapped  van  of  battle 
Seems  the  unwalled  side  of  hell, 


And  the  ranks  of  banded  foemen, 

Kush  on  like  ocean  surge, 
But  are  mangled,  torn  and  blasted, 

As  they  near  the  flaming  verge. 

Now  they  seem  a  moment  gaining, 
And  their  fiendish  shouts  grow  loud, 

As  the  front  ranks  are  half  hidden, 
In  the  rolling  flame  and  cloud ; 


28          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

But  the  flying  hailstones  thicken, 
With  the  jarring  boom  and  crash, 

And  the  polished  bayonets  glitter 
In  the  angry  cannon  flash, 


While  the  front  ranks  crumble  faster 
Than  their  places  can  be  filled, 

Till  is  formed  a  bloody  rampart 
Of  the  wounded  and  the  killed. 


The  gunner  wields  the  lanyard, 

And  the  rammer's  sponge  runs  dry, 

And  the  canister  and  grape-shot 
In  a  reaping  tempest  fly. 

"  FOBWARD  !  FORWARD  !"  sounds  the  order, 

And  the  mad  ranks  forward  leap 
Over  piles  of  fallen  comrades, 
Where  the  blood  runs  ankle  deep. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          29 

But  the  storm  of  iron  holds  them, 
Saving  where  the  fierce  array 

"Wildly  rushes  on  the  center, 
Where  the  cannoniers  give  way. 


With  drawn  swords  they  fall  back  slowly, 
While  with  dark  and  angry  frown, 

Thrusts  from  bayonets  they  parry, 
As  they  strike  the  foremost  down  ; 


Till  one  battery's  guns  are  captured, 
And  the  rest  are  falling  back, 

While  the  shouts  and  cheers  grow  louder 
As  the  cannon  roars  grow  slack, 


Till  upleaping  on  a  sudden, 

In  a  long  unbroken  line, 
To  the  rearward  of  the  cannons, 

Burnished  bayonets  brightly  shine. 
3* 


30          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 
"  CHARGE  !  CHARGE  !   DOUBLE  QUICK,  MEN  ! 

FORWARD  1" 

Falls  like  thunder  on  their  ears, 
And  the  trumps  and  drums  repeat  it, 
'Mid  a  mighty  roll  of  cheers, 


And  the  ground  begins  to  tremble, 
As  their  swift  feet  rise  and  fall, 

To  the  music  of  the  drum  beat, 
And  the  bugle's  brazen  call. 


'Mong  the  guns  they  rush  with  fury, 
And  before  them  sternly  close, 

While  their  bayonets  ring  and  rattle 
'Mong  the  bayonets  of  their  foes. 

Thrusting,  parrying,  clubbing,  warding, 
Thrust  for  thrust  and  blow  for  blow, 

Hearts  are  pierced  and  breasts  torn  open  ; 
Dashed-out  brains  fly  to  and  fro. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          31 

Not  a  sound  but  groans  and  curses, 
And  the  clash  of  meeting  steel, 

"While  some  dead  and  wounded  fall  not, 
But,  as  sways  the  dense  crowd,  reel. 


Here  and  there  with  bloody  weapons, 
Through  each  other,  foemen  lie, 

And  they  moan  and  curse  each  other, 
While  in  agony  they  die. 


But  the  loyal  army  wavers, 
And  the  centre  almost  breaks, 

Where  yon  trodden,  bloody  hill-top, 
'jSTeath  the  fiercest  battle,  shakes. 


But  they  stand  the  onset  bravely, 
Till  they  see  their  leader  fall, 

When  a  fierce  and  sudden  terror 
Quickly  seizes  on  them  all, 


32          THE   TALISMAN   OF  BATTLE. 

And  they're  on  the  point  of  flying, 
"When  a  youth  with  lifted  blade 

In  one  hand,  in  one  the  banner, 
Forward  plunges,  undismayed. 


With  one  rapid  glance  cast  backward, 
Cries  he  in  this  hour  of  need, 

"  UP,   BOYS  !   KALLY  ROUND  THE   BANNER  ! 
FOLLOW,   CHARGING,    WHERE  I   LEAD  !" 


With  a  shout  of  reassurance, 
They  in  fiercer  combat  close, 

For  a  nobler,  braver  leader, 
Ne'er  led  patriots  'gainst  their  foes. 

Thrusting,  parrying  and  smiting, 
In  succession  quick  he  stands, 

His  example  fiercely  followed 
By  the  brave  men  he  commands, 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  33 

And  his  bright  sword  shines  like  light- 
ning, 

As  it  cleaves  the  battle  air, 
And  around  the  hilt  tied  firmly, 

Is  a  braid  of  raven  hair. 


But  a  foeman's  broad  sword  hissing, 
Comes  a-glancing  down  his  blade, 

And  the  bright  lock  rudely  severed, 
On  the  bloody  ground  is 


And  his  dark  eye  fiercely  flashes, 
As  they  tread  it  'neath  their  feet, 

"While  his  breast  heaves  like  a  billow, 
To  his  wild  heart's  furious  beat. 


Forward,  like  a  wounded  tiger, 
Keeping  guard  before  her  young, 

Jn  their  faces  with  defiance, 

Crying,  "  FOLLOW  ME  !"  he  sprung. 


34  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

Steel  from  steel  tore  sparks  and  flashes, 
And  his  brave  men  closed  up  well, 

Till  the  prize  he  saw,  sprang  forward, 
And  grasped  it  as  he  fell, 


While  before  the  furious  onset 
Of  the  maddened  men  he  led, 

Was  the  foe's  strong  centre  broken, 
And  with  panic  seized,  they  fled. 

t 

*          *          *          *          * 

Bugles  sound  the  cannon  forward, 
And  they  roll  up  to  the  hills, 

And  a  storm  of  iron  missiles 
All  the  air  of  battle  fills. 


Furious  shells  keep  bursting,  bursting, 
And  the  shot  keep  raining  on, 

And  scattered  dead  and  wounded  men, 
The  falling  fall  upon. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  35 

Kuined  wrecks  of  broken  cannon  ; 

"Wounded  steeds  that  flounce  about ; 
Horsemen  overrunning  footmen, 

Add  confusion  to  the  rout, 


As  in  mingled  wild  disorder, 

"With  more  speed  than  is  their  wont, 

All  strive  fiercely  to  be  foremost, 
In  the  rearward -rushing  front. 

But  amid  the  smoking  chaos 

Of  the  roaring  overthrow, 
Comes  a  pause  in  the  swift  progress 

Of  the  fast  retreating  foe. 

Hark  !  a  numerous  reinforcement," 
"With  loud  shouts  the  distance  fills, 

As  they  catch  the  scent  of  battle, 
As  it  floats  beyond  the  hilis. 


I  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE* 

Back  there  rolls  a  hearty  answer, 
While  their  steps  the  flying  check, 

And  the  beaten,  routed  army, 

Is  but  just  preserved  from  wreck  ; 


And  the  fierce  pursuit  abandoned, 
Gives  them  leisure  to  reform, 

And  revive  the  waning  fury 
Of  the  crimson  battle-storm. 


And  the  dark  red  fight  raged  fiercely, 
And  the  dense  clouds  mounted  high, 

Till  the  day  at  length  was  ended, 
And  the  sun  bade  earth  good-bye. 

When  the  warring  hosts  seemed  weary 
Of  the  bloody  work  of  death, 

And  the  cannons  ceased  to  thunder, 
And  the  battle  paused  for  breath. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          37 


IV. 


H  stars  in  the  sky  began  burning, 
Cool  winds  did  the  green  branches  toss, 
And  night  in  the  far  west  was  turning 
The  gold  of  the  sunset  to  dross. 


And  as  the  destruction-toned  booming, 
Grew  sullenly  less  till  it  ceased, 

The  disk  of  the  red  moon  was  looming 
Above  the  dark  clouds  in  the  east 


Fresh  cannon  with  rumble  and  rattle, 
Moved  up  to  each  dead-covered  height, 

Prepared  to  renew  the  fierce  battle, 
If  fled  not  the  foeman  by  night. 


38          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BA1TLE. 

And  when  the  loud  battle's  alarm  was 
All  hushed,  every  hoof  still,  and  wheel, 

Sleep  came  to  the  war-tired  armies, 
And  dropped  on  their  eye-lids  her  seal. 


But  not  with  the  battle's  commotion, 
The  groans  of  the  wounded  were  still, 

But  yet  like  the  far  roar  of  ocean, 
They  rose  up  from  valley  and  hill. 


And  many  were  busily  caring 
For  those  who  were  writhing  in  pain, 

And  on  the  stained  litters  were  bearing 
Them  back  to  the  ambulance  train. 


Then  as  the  dim  light  of  the  lantern 

Shone  out  from  each  corpse-loaded  slope, 

His  eyes  would  each  suffering  man  turn, 
And  smile  with  a  flickering  hope  ; 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  39 

And  as  the  deep  shadows  grew  deeper, 
The  train  with  its  murmuring  load 

Moved  out,  startling  many  a  sleeper, 
As  it  rattled  along  the  rough  road, 


While    the    clouds    growing    darker    and 
thicker, 

Eolled  upward  in  front  of  the  moon, 
And  stray  beams  came  down  with  a  flicker, 

On  the  blado  of  each  guarding  dragoon. 


Then    red    streams    of   lightning    poured, 

flashing 
'Mong  the  folds    of   the    storm's    sable 

shroud, 

And  deep,  heavy  thunders  came  crashing 
Through  the  bars   of  each  dark  prison 
cloud. 


40  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

And    as    sword-cuts    and  shell-rents  kept 
bleeding, 

And  strength  for  endurance  grew  less, 
Each  the  cries  of  his  comrades  unheeding, 

Was  lost  in  his  own  deep  distress  ; 


And 'moving  thus  on  all  a-shiver, 

With  the  cold  and  the  wet  of  the  rain, 

They  called  upon  God  to  deliver 

Their  souls  from  their  bodies  in  pain. 

And  anon  the  train  paused,  and  the  smart- 
ing 

And  aching  would  somewhat  abate, 
But  the  far  ahead  noise  of  its  starting, 

Gave  feelings  which  none  can  relate  ; 

And  deep  oaths  and  curses  were  spoken, 
And  groans  which  but  few  could  restrain, 

As  the  sore  ends  of  bones  that  were  broken, 
Kept  bumping  together  with  pain  ; 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          41 

And  as  the  torn  tendons  did  quiver, 

And  the  trickling  blood  left  a  dark  stain^ 

Groans  rose  like  the  roar  of  a  river, 
Along  the  whole  ambulance  train. 

And  cries  arose,  pleading  and  prayerful, 
While  extreme  torture  wrung  the  slow 

tear, 
"  Oh,  driver !  for  God's  sake,  drive  careful  1 

Be  careful !  oh,  driver !  oh,  dear !" 
While  the  drops  of  rain  filled  the  whole  air 

full, 

And  the  moan  of  the  night  wind  was 
drear. 

But  dripping  wet,  tired  and  worried, — 
The  wounded  in  plight  scarcely  worse, — 

The  drivers  on  angrily  hurried, 

Still  answering  their  cries  with  a  curse, 

Till  many  an  ambulance  carried 

The  pale,  pulseless  freight  of  a  hearse. 


42  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

I  heard  a  low  moaning  and  crying, 
From  the  lips  of  the  one  next  to  me, 

And  I  bent,  for  I  thought  he  was  dying, 
And  felt  of  his  low  pulse  to  see. 

But  hjs  dark  eyes  he  dreamily  lifted, 

And  whispered,  "  Oh,  God !  let  me  die  1" 

While  the  dark  storm-clouds  tumbled  and 

drifted, 
Like  ranges  of  hills  through  the  sky* 

My  own  pains  a  moment  forgetting, 
I  gazed  in  his  face,  nor  did  speak, 

For  I  fancied  his  life's  sun  was  setting, 
And  its  last  flush  was  red  on  his  cheek. 

"  Oh,  give  me  some  water !  some  water  ! 

OH,  GIVE  ME  SOME  WATER  !"  he  said, 
As  his  flesh  with  the  fever  burned  hotter. 

And  his  dark  cheeks  flushed  deeper  with 
red. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          43 

And  with  low  moans  and  cries  most  dis- 
tressing, 

He  turned  him  his  comrades  between, 
And  soon  to  his  parched  lips  was  pressing 

The  mouth  of  his  empty  canteen. 

And  long  did  he  eagerly  suck  it, 
And  cried,  when  exhausted  it  fell, 

"  Oh,  God  !  for  one  drop  from  the  bucket 
That 's  dripping  at  home  in  the  well !" 

A  soldier,  then  passing  by,  halted, 
As  I  raised  the  canteen  o'er  my  head, 

And  quick  from  his  saddle  he  vaulted, 
And  off  to  the  river  brink  sped. 

And  filled  it,  and  hastily  brought  it, 
Then  mounted  and  moved  on  his  way  ; 

'Twas    a    good    deed,  a  good    man    that 

wrought  it, 
"  God  bless  him,"  was  all  I  could  say. 


44  THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

My  comrade's  fierce  thirst  was  abated, 
And  when  the  train  came  to  a  halt, 

A  story  to  me  he  related, 

Stretched  out  beneath  heaven's  dark  vault. 

A  fire  beside  us  was  kindled, 

And  the  stoi:m  which  had  trumpeted  high, 
To  a  calm  in  the  dark  midnight  dwindled, 

And  the  stars  reappeared  in  the  sky. 

The  blood  from  his  deep  wound  kept  flow- 
ing, 

And  as  weaker  and  weaker  he  grew, 
*  His  cloak  from  his  shoulders  back  throwing, 
From  'neath  it  a  letter  he  drew, 

And  holding  it  forth,  he  said,  «  Take  it, 
It  came  when  the  battle  begun, 

And  then  I'd  no  leisure  to  break  it, 
Quick,  read  it,  or  I  shall  be  gone !" 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          45 

Then  slowly  and  painfully  turning, 
And  bending  as  far  as  I  might, 

Toward  where  the  dim  fire  was  burning, 
I  read  by  the  flickering  light. 


V. 


shine  nightly, 
Just  as  brightly, 
As  they  used  to  shine 
When  your  dear  arms  clasped  me  tightly, 
And  your  lips  pressed  mine. 

"  But  I'm  lonely, 
And  they  only 
Bring  the  scenes  now  past, 
Which  by  angel  memory  shown  me, 
Make  the  tears  foil  fast. 


.     . 

46          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTL.E. 

"  By  the  window 

Here  I  linger, 

While  the  church  bells  chime, 
And  the  clock's  i  evolving  finger 
Marks  the  flight  of  time. 

"And  the  night  birds 
Chant  the  bright  words 
Of  their  unwritten  song, 
And  the  boughs,  by  breezes  light  stirred, 
Pour  sweet  notes  along. 

"  Bright  as  ever, 

Star-beams  quiver 
'Mong  the  clear  drops  of  dew 
On  the  willows  by  the  river 

Where  I  've  walked  with  you. 

"And  I'm  dreaming 

As  they're  streaming 
All  the  long  branches  through, 
And  I'm  wishing  that  the  seeming 
May  be  real  and  true. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  47 

"  Oh !  I  wonder 

When  the  thunder 
Of  the  war  will  cease, 
And  the  nation  prosper  under 
The  bright  smile  of  peace. 

"  Dark  and  fearful, 
Sad  and  tearful, 
May  the  strife  yet  be, 
But  our  hearts  will  be  more  cheerful 
"When  our  land  is  free  ; 

"And  though  weary 
Sad  and  dreary, 
Is  my  life  so  lone, 

Yet  I  'd  comfort  thee  and  cheer  thee 
As  becomes  thine  own  ; 

"And  when  twilight 
Makes  .the  sky  bright, 
I  will  kneel  and  pray 
That  what 's  my  light  may  be  thy  light, 
And  guide  thee  alway. 


48          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

"And  when  flashing 
Blades  stop  clashing, 
And  the  wild  strife  is  o'er, 
And  the  raging  waves  of  passion 
Are  at  rest  once  more, 

"  We,  united 

And  delighted, 
In  the  bright,  green  dell, — 
Love,  the  only  guest  invited — 

In  a  cottage  home  may  dwell." 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          49 


VI. 


II KM  I  turned  to  my  companion, 
And  the  tear-tracks  down  his  cheek 
Told  a  more  heart-touching  story 
Than  his  quivering  lips  could  speak. 

But  he  grasped  my  right  hand  firmly, 
While  he  drew  me  close  to  him, 

And  he  whispered,  "  I  am  going, 
Yes,  my  lamp  of  life  is  dim." 


"  Listen  !"  and  he  drew  me  nearer, 
"  There  is  something  I  would  say  ; 

Something  with  which  I  'd  entrust  you, 
Ere  my  soul  has  passed  away. 
5 


50          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

"  Dwells  a  dark-haired  maiden,  far  from 
"Where  war's  banners  gaily  flaunt, 

In  a  cheerful  little  cottage 

'Mong  the  mountains  of  Yermont. 


"  She  is  fairer  than  the  morning, 
And  as  pure  as  evening's  blush, 

Or  the  dew-drops  which  your  footsteps, 
From  the  blooms  of  morning  brush. 

"And  I  Ve  something  I  would  send  her, 
*  Oh,  I  prize  it  more  than  gold  ; 
'Tis  the  little  braid  I  spoke  of, 
In  the  story  that  I  told. 

"  Tell  her  'mid  war's  awful  rattle, 
When  the  ground  was  piled  with  dead, 

That  this  dark  braid  won  the  battle, 
And  the  foernen  from  it  fled. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          51 

"  Tell  her  for  my  sake  to  keep  it, 

And  when  she  is  laid  to  rest, 
Let  it  shine  amid  the  garland 

Of  white  roses  on  her  breast." 

He  was  silent,  and  I  took  it, 
'Twas  the  last  I  heard  him  say, 

For  they  took  me  on  a  litter  then, 
And  carried  me  away, 

As  the  mellow  waves  of  sunshine 
On  the  coast  of  morning  rolled, 

And  the  east  was  dashed  all  over 
With  the  shining  spray  of  gold. 

VII. 

others   whose   flesh   had   been 
mangled  and  rent, 
Each  a  suffering  object  of  pity. 
They  bore  me  away  to  a  hospital  tent, 
And  from  thence  to  the  Capitol  City. 


52          THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 

There  I  found  many  friends  who  as  sisters 

were  dear, 

'Mong  the  lofty  as  well  as  the  lowly, 
And  the  day-cogs  that  fill  the  great  wheel 

of  the  year, 
Turned  the  pinions  of 'destiny  slowly. 

Till  long  weeks  and  months  had  dragged 

tediously  by, 

As  if  bound  by  a  cumbersome  fetter  ; 
"When  a  mother,  far  off,  'neath  the  clear 

northern  sky, 
Eead  these  simple  lines  traced  in  a  letter  : 

"The  war  is  not  yet  done  ; 
High  rolls  the  sulphur  cloud  ; 
From  morn  till  set  of  sun 
The  battle-shout  rings  loud. 
Scores  of  brave  men,  each  day, 
Snatching  one  parting  kiss, 
Go  forth  to  join  the  fray  ; 
Yet,  notwithstanding  this, 

Mother,  I'm  coming  home. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.          53 

"  As  one  long  year  ago, 
When  my  sad  heart  did  burn, 
I  went  to  meet  the  foe, 
Look  not  for  my  return, 
It  was  not  mine  to  share 
Mars'  favoring  smile  thus  long, 
So,  leaning  on  a  pair 
Of  crutches,  firm  and  strong, 
Mother,  I'm  coming  home. 

"  This  may  appear  quite  hard, 
But  sure  I'll  not  complain, 
When  hosts  are  deeper  scarred, 
And  hosts  of  others  slain. 
No,  I  will  give  no  place 
To  murmuring  on  my  part, 
But  with  a  smiling  face, 
And  with  a  grateful  heart, 

Mother,  I'm  coming  home." 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE. 


VIII. 


not  forget  the  low  cot  far  away, 
Nor    the   braid    that    was    left   to    my 

keeping  ; 
I  thought  of  that  soldier  and  maiden  by 

day, 

And  dreamed  of  them  often  when  sleep- 
ing. 


Till  on  a  still  day  when  the  earth  lay  asleep 

In  the  arms  of  the  Indian  summer, 
I  passed  where  the  echoes  from  many  a 

steep, 

Long  before  mocked    the    beat  of  the 
drummer  ; 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  55 

And  where  a  green  slope  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine basked, 

1  paused  for  a  moment,  to  ponder  ; 

When  a  peasant  near  by,  to  a  question  I 

asked, 
Said,  "That  is  the  cottage,  up  yonder !" 

And  tears  down  my  sad  cheeks  came  roll- 
ing anon, 

From  the  fountains  which  grief  was  un- 
binding,. 
As  the  carriage  rolled  slowly  and  steadily 

on, 

Up  the  road  that  was  rough,  steep  and 
winding. 

And  nearing  the  cottage  I  paused  'neath  a 

tree, 
Where    the    afternoon    sunbeams    were 

slanting ; 
And  the  notes  of  a  dirge  came  floating  to 

we, 

Which   a   band   of  sad   mourners  were 
chanting. 


56         THE   TALISMAN   OF  BATTLE. 

I  asked  not  a  question,  but  passed  with  the 

rest 

To  the  beautiful  coffin  of  rosewood  ; 
The  corpse  looked  as  sweet  with   hands 

crossed  on  its  breast, 
As  an  innocent  babe  in  repose  would. 

She  died  with  a  prayer,  and  a  smile  on  her 

lips, 
And  her  brow  was  unmarked  e'en  by  one 

line, 
And    the    silvery  shade   of   death's  fatal 

eclipse, 
Served  only  to  mellow  the  sunshine. 

Read  the  plate  on  the  coffin,  "  Young  ROSA- 
LIE CLAKE, 

The  heart-broken  victim  of  sorrow, 
Who  fell  asleep  here  to  awaken  up  there, 

To  a  blissful,  eternal  to-morrow." 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  57 

O,  angels  of 'light  in  the  City  of  Bliss, 
What  mortal,  here  gazing,  could  blame 

yo"> 

For  taking  so  fair  a  young  angel  as  this, 
'JSTeath  the  arch  of  the  emerald  rainbow. 

I  reached  forth  my  hand  to  the  wreath  on 

her  breast, 

The  wish  of  the  soldier  was  granted  ; 
Then  out  'neath  the  autumn-dyed  maples  1 

passed, 
Long  ago  in  the  cottage  yard  planted  ; 

And    the    songs    of  the    birds,    and    the 

zephyr's  low  sigh, 

And  the  sweet  silver  sound  of  the  foun- 
tains, 
Seemed    hushed    as    her    guardian    angel 

passed  by, 

To  her  home  'inong  the  heavenly 
tains. 


58  THE  TALISMAN-  OF  BATTLE. 

Oh!  what  shall  support  in  its  judgment- 
ward  path, 

The  crime-loaded  conscience  of  Treason  ; 
Or  how  shall  it  stand  'neath  the  fierce,  hell- 
hot  wrath, 
When  JUSTICE  demandeth  a  reason. 

Oh,  GOD!  how  these  red-handed  allies  of 

Crime, 

Make  playthings  of  lives  and  affections  ; 
What  false  lights-  they  raise  on  the  rock- 
coast  of  Time, 
All  luring  in  fatal  directions. 

Can  purity  sanction  such  direful  deeds, 
As  makes  hell's    monarch    fearful  and 
jealous ; 

Or  approvingly  smile  when  a  patriot  bleeds, 
Or  to  bow  to  such  tyrants  compel  us. 


THE  TALISMAN  OF  BATTLE.  59 

Oh  !  no,  the  great  Anglo-American  race. 
Shall  yet  fill  the  forwardmost  station  ; 

And  for  traitorous  souls  I  believe  ample 

space 
Is  reserved  in  the  gulf  of  damnation. 

And  our  EAGLE  shall  flap  his  broad  wings 

when  he  hears 

Of    their    well-deserved    downward   re- 
moval, 

And  the  stars  on  our  FIAG  in  their  crystal- 
line spheres, 
Shall  beam  a  soft  glow  of  approval. 


' 


flights 


HARP  STRINGS   OF  THE  HEART.       63 


the 


HERE'S  a  secret  chamber  in  every 

heart 

Where  heaven-sent  minstrels  stand, 
And    a   harp  is   there    with  tender 
strings 
Which  quiver  at  their  command. 


And  each  as  it  quivers  an  impulse  gives 
To  the  heart  in  its  own  soft  way, 

But  Conscience  touches  the  leading  string, 
And  tells  us  which  to  obey. 


64:      HARP  STRINGS   OF  THE  HEART. 

And  'tis  well  'tis  so,  for  the  door  of  the 
heart 

At  times  may  be  entered  in 
By  the  Evil  One,  who  the  strings  will  touch, 

And  an  impulse  give  to  sin. 

The  finest  string  in  this  sacred  harp 
Was  made  in  the  courts  above, 

And  tuned  by  the  finger  of  God  and  sent 
To  the  minstrel  whose  name  is  Love. 

And    whenever    this    finest    of  chords  is 
touched 

By  the  tip  of  his  silver  wing, 
It  sends  a  thrill  to  the  inmost  heart 

And  opens  a  bubbling  spring.     * 

And  as  quietly  forth  from  this  spring  doth 
flow 

A  current  of  nectar  sweet, 
The  heart  in  the  bosom  doth  rise  and  glow 

With  a  soft  and  genial  heat. 


HARP  STRINGS  OF  THE  HEART.      65 

And  a  soft  conductor  the  genial  glow 

To  the  twinkling  eye  imparts, 
And  a  rosy  flush  from  the  germ  below, 

To  bloom  on  the  cheek  upstarts. 

Tis  felt  by  all  but  'tis  sweetest  to  one 
Whose  bosom  is  free  from  guile^ 

The  maiden  feels  it  most  when  she  basks 
In  the  light  of  her  lover's  smile  ; 

And  the  youth  the  most  when  he  gazeth  long 
In  the  eyes  of  the  laughing  maid, 

Within  whose  bosom  he  knows  for  him 
Is  the  self-same  harp-string  played. 

And  the  mother  most  when  she  folds  her 

child  — 

Her  only  child,  to  her  breast, 
And  sees  the  smile  which  his  face  lights  up, 

In  his  angel-guarded  rest. 
6* 


66      HARP  STRINGS   OF  THE  HEART. 

And  the  old  man  most  when  be  takes  the 

Book 

And  reads  of  the  other  land, 
"While  he  knows  by  his  frame  that  is  bend- 
ing low, 
His  departure  is  near  at  hand. 

And  herein  this  chamber,  all  sweetly  tuned, 

Is  another,  a  secret  string, 
Which  giveth  a  musical  sound  when  struck 

By  Memory's  angel  wing. 

It  scarcely  is  heard  in  the  heart  of  youth, 
And  its  tone  is  less  sweet  than  when 

'Tis  struck  in  the  heart  of  the  aged  man, 
With  his  three  score  years  and  ten. 

It  giveth  a  flush  to  his  faded  cheek, 

And  a  light  to  his  failing  eye, 
As  it  carries  him  back  to  the  golden  days 

When  the  hopes  of  his  youth  ran  high  ; 


HARP  STRINGS   OF  THE  HEART.      67 

He  thinks  of  the  home  of  his  childhood, 

then, 

Of  the  tree  that  sheltered  his  head, 
With   branches    which    over    the    cottage 

door, 
And  over  the  window  spread. 

He  thinks  of  the  blossoms  whose  eyes  did 

shine, 

In  the  rays  of  the-evening  still, 
As  in  beautiful  clusters  they  decked  the 

vine 
That  clung  to  the  window  sill. 

He  thinks  of  the  walks  in  the  moonlight, 

too, 

"With  his  love  o'er  the  blooming  lea, 
And  the  warm  embrace,  -and  the  warmer 

kiss, 
'£seath  the  boughs  of  the  hawthorn  tree, 


68       HARP  STRINGS  OF  THE  HEART. 

And  he  thinks  of  the  beautiful  garland,  too, 

Of  flowers  so  bright  and  gay, 
Which  circled  her  brow  like  a  rainbow  fair, 

On  the  morn  of  the  bridal  daj. 

And  the  bright  panorama  goes  gliding  by, 
Till  the  hand  of  the  minstrel  stops, 

When  it  vanishes  quite  from  his  failing  eye, 
And  the  gray  old  curtain  drops. 

And  here  in  this  hall  is  a  coarser  string, 
Whose  sorrowful  tones  are  low  ; 

It  giveth  a  mournful  dirge  when  struck 
By  the  raven  wing  of  Woe. 

And  the  heart  like  a  drum  to  the  tune 

keeps  time, 

With  a  low  and  measured  beat, 
While  the  funeral  train  of   its  prostrate 

hopes 
Moves  out  through  the  shadowy  street ; 


HARP  STRINGS  OF  THE  HEART.      69 

And  a  silvery  stream  flows  softly  forth, 
From  a  fount  in  the  bosom  hid, 

And   escapes  in  drops  from  beneath  the 

edge 
Of  the  silk-fringed  curtain  lid. 

And  it  flows  ofttimes  till  the  fount  is  dry, 
And  the  roses,  which  once  were  red, 

On  the  full  round  cheeks  of  the  mourner, 

die, 
And  lilies  bloom  there  instead. 

'Tis  keenest  felt  by  the  mourning  one, 
As  he  stands  by  the  open  grave, 

Or  under  the  boughs  of  the  willow  tree, 
Which  over  the  green  mound  wave.  % 

Or  else  as  he  closes  the  sightless  eyes 
Of  the  one  loved  dearest  of  all, 

And  consigns  the  frozen  and  soulless  clay, 
To  the  winding-sheet  and  pall. 


I 
70      HARP  STRINGS  OF  THE  HEART. 

And  here  is  a  minstrel  whose  crown  is  a 

star, 

She  is  fair  and  her  name  is  Hope, 
Her  robes  are  decked  with  flowers  that 

bloom 
On  fancy's  sunniest  slope. 


The  chord  she  sweeps  is  oftener  swept 
Than  the  other  harp-chords  there, 

And  with  each  of  the  others  it  sounds  in 

tune, 
When  struck  by  the  minstrel  fair. 


And  there 's  scarcely  an  hour  but  the  heart 

of  youth 

Beats  time  to  its  harmony  tone, 
With  love  sometimes,  and  with  grief  some- 
times, 
And  sometimes  all  alone. 


HARP  STRINGS  OF  THE  HEART.      71 

Its  sweet  tones  all  to  the  future  flow, 
And  the  minstrel  is  always  there, 

To  touch  the  chord  with  the  lightest  touch, 
When  the  heart  kneels  down  in  prayer. 

And  the  silvery  cadence  floats  away, 
O'er  the  deep  dark  stream  of  death, 

Till  the  song  by  echoes  is  sung  to  sleep, 
On  the  heavenly  hills  of  faith. 

But  this  chord  is  mortal  and  only  sounds 
In  the  valley  of  death  and  sin  ; 

The  harp  in  the  heart  of  the  angel  form, 
Will  have  no  hope-chord  in. 


72  THE  ANGEL   OF  SLEEP. 


WAS  evening's  solemn  hour, 

The  zephyr's  wings  were  furled, 
]Sk>r  fanned  each  leafy  bower, 

Where    dangling     grape-vines 
curled. 


The  little  birds  were  still, 

In  upland  and  in  dale, 
All  save  the  whip-po-will, 

And  clear-toned  nightingale. 

The  moon  was  sailing  high, 
Where  late  had  soared  the  sun, 

And  through  the  evening  sky, 
The  stars  peeped,  one  by  one. 


THE  ANGEL   OF  SLEEP.  73 

And  as  those  sky-lamps  burned, 
Bright  as  they  burned  of  old, 

Upon  their  hinges  turned 
The  gates  of  pearl  and  gold  ; 


And  from  them  slowly  flew 
An  angel  robed  in  white, 

And  down  through  ether  blue, 
Earthward  she  turned  her  flight, 


Bearing  a  silver  cup, 

Beneath  her  robes  hid  deep, 
Wherein  were  treasured  up 

The  soft,  sweet  seeds  of  sleep. 


Slow  did  this  angel  fly, 

Through  skies  of  evening  clear, 
Unseen  by  mortal  eye, 

Unheard  by  mortal  ear  ; 


74  THE  ANGEL  OF  SLEEP. 

When  with  such  smiling  look. 
As  she  alone  could  wear,    . 

From  'neath  her  robes  she  took, 
The  cup  deep  hidden  there  ; 


And  cloud-like  floating  slow, 
The  earth  great  distance  o'er, 

Widely  she  'gan  to  sow 
Tke  soft,  sweet  seeds  she  bore. 

Gently  they  fell  as  dew, 

Or  as  the  music  sweet 
Of  lark,  when  far  from  view, 

His  notes  he  doth  repeat. 

Where'er  a  creature  dwelt, 
She  sailed  on  level  wing, 

And  each  her  influence  felt, 
Lord,  peasant,  prince  and  king. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  SLEEP.  75 

The  babe  sank  to  repose, 

Its  mother  to  relieve, 
Its  little  eyes  did  close, 

As  daisies  close  at  eve. 


The  mother's  weary  lid, 
Feeling  a  pressure  slight, 

Sank  gently  down  and  hid 
The  orb  beneath  from  sight. 


The  queen's  soft  lids  they  pressed, 
"Whose  brow  had  borne  a  crown  ; 

Whose  form  was  laid  to  rest 
On  beds  of  eider  down. 


The  soldier  on  the  field 

Where  honor  had  been  won, 

As  hosts  with  spear  and  shield 
Fought  'neath  the  setting  sun  ; 


76  THE  ANGEL  OF  SLEEP. 

The  sailor  on  the  sea, 

Whose  ship  with  swelling  sail 
Moved  onward  light  and  free, 

Before  the  gentle  gale  ; 


The  convict  in  his  cell ; 

The  plow-boy  on  his  couch  ; 
In  slumbers  gently  fell, 

Beneath  the  soothing  touch. 


Then  with  her  wings  unfurled, — 
Bearing  her  empty  cnp, — 

She  viewed  the  slumbering  world, 
And  smiling  started  up. 


And  like  a  bird  plumed  white, 
'Gan  round  and  round  to  wheel, 

Leaving  the  morning  light 
The  closed  lids  to  unseal. 


THE  ANGEL   OF  SLEEP.  77 

Thus  she  each  eve  doth  go, 
From  spring  till  spring  again, 

The  slumber-seeds  to  sow 
Among  the  sons  of  men. 


78  COME  TO   THE   WOODS. 


to  flue 


come  with  me  if  you  love  to 

wander, 
'Away  to  the  woods  iu  the  distance 

yonder  ; 

Away  where  the  wild  vines  grow  ! 
There  's  where  the  song-birds  plumed  so 

neatly, 

Unwritten  music  warble  sweetly, 
Charming  the  ear  and  the  heart  completely, 
Come,  to  the  woods  let  us  go. 

There  's  where  the  grand  old  river  marches  ; 
There  's  where  the  grape-vines  weave  green 

arches  ; 
There  's  where  the  wild  flowers  grow. 


COME  TO  THE    WOODS. 

They  the  rambler's  sweet  reward  are, 
Scattered  along  by  the  river's  border, 
And  far  away  in  rich  disorder, 
Come,  to  the  woods  let  us  go. 

There  's  where  the  air  is  light  and  balmy  ; 
There 's  where  your  cares  are  stolen  from  ye, 

And  raised  are  your  spirits  low  ; 
There  you  are  robbed  of  trouble  and  sor- 
row, 

Nor  will  you  find  o'er  much  to-morrow, 
Unless  you  are  foolish  enough  to  borrow  ; 

Come,  to  the  woods  let  us  go. 


80  NOVEMBER. 


MEMBER  comes  to  make 
Its  annual  visit ; 
The  blue  waves  of  the  lake, 
With  hoarse  roar  dash  and  break, 
While  their  light  spray- wreaths  take 
All  hues  exquisite. 


A  low  and  muffled  tone 

Rings  from  the  fountains, 
And  where  the  breezes  moan, 
A  robe — November's  own — 
Of  sober  hue,  is  thrown 
Around  the  mountains. 


NOVEMBER.  81 

The  fields,  shorn  of  their  crops, 

Look  brown  and  sterile  ; 
Piecemeal  the  burden  drops 
From  bending  hickory  tops, 
As  round  among  them  hops 

The  nimble  squirrel. 

Down  through  the  meadow  goes, 

"With  noisy  laughter, 
The  brook  which  overfloM7s 
Next  month,  and  will  be  froze, 
As  every  school-boy  knows,   , 

A  short  time  after. 


The  grove  and  grape-vine  s  ving, 

Are  now  forsaken  ; 
The  birds  there  wont  to  sing, 
In  summer  and  in  spring, 
Away  on  rapid  wing 

Their  flight  have  taken. 


82  NOVEMBER. 

The  orchard  boughs  have  shed 

Their  burden  mellow. 
The  corn  is  harvested, 
The  chestnut  burs  are  dead, 
And  all  the  leaves  are  red, 
And  brown,  and  yellow. 


Each  air-boat  with  light  sail, 

Has  left  the  thistle ; 
Dead  leaves  float  on  the  gale, 
And  by  the  woody  vale 
The  solitary  quail 

Has  ceased  to  whistle. 

The  winds  that  chilly  blow, 

Are  sadly  humming, 
Telling  in  accents  low, 
"What  each  one  dreads  to  know, 
That  with  his  ice  and  snow, 

Old  "Winter's  coming. 


NOVEMBER.  83 

And  as  its  murky  vail 

The  future  slow  lifts, 
We  seem  to  hear  the  wail 
Of  winds  freighted  with  hail, 
And  catch  the  outlines  pale, 

Of  storms  and  snow-drifts. 


84:  MY  MOTHER. 


IllERE  'S  mellow  music  in  the  sound 
That  'minds   me   of   the    one    who 

round 

My  infant  form  her  arms  entwined 
Protecting!}7,  ere  yet  my  mind 
Knew  to  be  thankful,  or  my  weak, 
Untutored  tongue  its  thanks  could  speak. 


'Twas  she  who  held  with  constant  care, 
Above  my  brow  the  shield  of  prayer, 
When  first  I  wandered  forth  and  played 
With  mates  beneath  the  cooling  shade, 
For  fear  the  tempter  might  begin 
To  tempt  my  youthful  heart  to  sin. 


MY  MOTHER.  85 

'Twas  she  who  when  I  older  grew, 
Showed  me  the  path  which  to  pursue 
Would  wisest  be,  and  lead  me  straight 
Through  honor's  pearl  and  silver  gate, 
And  to  a  rest  at  close  of  life, 
Beyond  this  field  of  worldly  strife. 


And  to  repay  her  love  for  me, 

Shall  all  my  care  in  future  be, 

I'll  spend  my  years  of  manhood's  strength 

To  smooth  her  path,  and  when  at  length 

My  eyes  grow  dark  in  death's  eclipse, 

Her  name  shall  last  be  on  my  lips. 


86        TWILIGHT  O.V  THE  POTOMAC. 


the 


'FIE  day  is  past,  the  sun  has  cast 
On  earth  his  last  long  glances, 

And  from  afar  night's  gloomy  car, 
Led  by  a  star,  advances. 

Potomac's  breast  noto  lies  at  rest, 
No  foamy  vest  o'erspreads  it, 

Though  shakes  almost,  the  tent-clad  coast, 
Beneath  the  host  that  treads  it. 


With  much  of  din  great  guns  begin 

To  thunder  in  the  distance, 
Where  traitors  learn  their  fate,  and  turn, 

Meeting  a  stern  resistance. 


TWILIGHT  ON  THE  POTOMAC,        87 

With  martial  sound  the  hills  resound, 
For  drums  all  round  are  IK  a  ting, 

And  bugles  la-ay,  near  and  away, 
And  troops  obey,  retivafing. 


But  ere  the  night  has  vanished  quite, 
And  morning  light  is  pouring, 

The  foe  may  come,  and  bullets  hum, 
And  throats  now  dumb  be  roaring. 


And  eyes  now  quite  as  clear  and  bright 
As  skies  when  light  is  breaking, 

May  softly  close  in  death's  repose, 
That  sleep  which  knows  no  waking. 


SHE  WAS  EIGHT  AND  I  WAS  TEN. 


(light  wul 


NE  sweet  name  I'll  ne'er  forget, 
In  a  mystic  frame  'tis  set, 
And  occupies  a  place  apart 
In  one  corner  of  my  heart ; 
That  dear  name  is  Laura  Lee, 
And  'twill  e'er  be  sweet  to  me, 
Though  I  parted  with  her  when 
She  was  eight  and  I  was  ten. 


Oft  together  we  have  played, 
Weaving  garlands  in  the  shade  ; 
Running  up  and  down  the  hill, 
Bv  the  brook  that  turned  the  mill  ; 


SHE  WAS  EIGHT  AND  I  WAS  TEN.    89 

Gazing  in  the  water  clear, 
While  its  music  we  could  hear 
Ringing  sweetly  out,  for  then 
She  was  eight  and  I  was  ten. 

When  we  wished  to  cross  the  stream, 
Glancing  in  the  morning  beam, 
On  our  way  to  a  neighbor's  cot, 
I  could  wade  but  she  could  not ; 
So  what  could  I  do,  kind  sir, 
But  wade  through  and  carry  her? 
And  I  did  so,  often,  when 
She  was  eight  and  I  was  ten. 

When  the  winter  snow  was  deep, 

And  the  growing  drifts  were  steep, 

Seated  on  my  little  sled, 

While  the  others  ran  ahead, 

Her  to  school  I  often  drew, 

And  then  home  when  school  was  thro'  ; 

And  'twas  all,  remember,  when 

She  was  eight  and  I  was  ten. 


90    SHE  WAS  EIGHT  AND  I  WAS  TEN. 

Oh  !  we  were  a  happy  pair, 
As  such  children  always  are  ; 
And  had  I  been  asked,  to  say, 
\Vhen  engaged  in  merry  play, 
"Whether  I'd  live  always  so, 
Or,  if  I  would  older  grow, 
Should  have  wished  all  life  as  when 
She  was  eight  and  I  was  ten. 

But,  alas  !  it  could  not  be  ; 
Soon  she  was  removed  from  me  ; 
Years  o'er  both  our  heads  have  rolled, 
Dark'ning  some  our  locks  of  gold  ; 
But  she  lives  in  memory  yet, 
Her  sweet  face  I'll  ne'er  forget, 
Though  i  parted  writh  her  when 
She  was  eight  and  I  was  ten, 


JUSTICE.  91 


fWAS  eve,  and  the  moonlight  and 
'^  starlight 

Came    down    on    the    wavelets 

asleep, 
As  soft  as  the  breath  of  an  angel 

On  the  sad  hearts  of  mourners  who  weep. 

The  light  breeze,  which  scarce  seemed   in 
motion 

O'er  valleys  and  hills  in  repose, 
Went  burdened  with  nigtingale  music 

And  the  odors  of  locust  and  rose. 


92  JUSTICE. 

When  down  where  the  lake's  gentle  pulses 
To   the   breeze-hymn   beat  time  on  the 
shore, 

A  young  pair  of  whispering  lovers 
Made  vows  to  be  true  evermore. 

'Twas  late  when  they  parted  with  blessings, 
And  low  beat  each  sorrowing  heart ; 

And   a  stray   moon-beam   flashed    on   his 

sword 
As  the  weeping  youth  turned  to  depart. 

Since  then  the  cold  storm-breath  of  winter 
Has  the  forest  robe  torn  and  laid  low  ; 

And  the  apple-tree  boughs  in  the  orchard, 
Have  gloried  in  purple  and  snow. 

And  fiir  off  in  green  Carolina, 

There  's  a  grave  with  no  monument  o'er ; 
And  another  is  down  by  the  lake  side, 

Where  the  wave-pulses  beat  on  the  shore. 


JUSTICE.  03 

He  was  slain  by  the  sword  of  a  traitor, 
When  the  sun  in  the  heavens  shone  low  ; 

And  P he  by  the  words  in  the  message 
Which  told  of  the  murderous  blow. 

And  the  angel  who  weighed  out  the  glory 

To  each  one,  for  sacrifice  due, 
Let  the  quantities  balance  each  other, 

And  equally  smiled  on  the  two^ 


94:  LINES    WITH  A   BOUQUET. 

With  *  gmiquet 

To    Miss    F.    N Y. 

)ROPS  of  dew  ere  long  will  twinkle 

In  the  wild  woods'  budding  bowers  ; 
iffi  Soon  the  merry  bob-o'-link  '11 

Make  his  silver  song-bells  tinkle, 
And  the  hand  of  Spring  will  sprinkle 
All  the  waking  earth  with  flowers. 

Let  this  bunch  of  scentful  glories, 
With  their  lips  of  varied  hue, 

Whisper  most  delightful  stories 
Of  those  coming  days  to  you. 

Of  the  wild  brook's  joyous  laughter, 
As  its  waters  downward  pour, 

Each  bright  wave  pursuing  after 
Those  that  took  the  leap  before. 


LINES    WITH  A   BOUQUET.  95 

Of  the  music  rich  and  tender, 
Melting  through  the  balmy  air, 

And  the  gems  of  starry  splendor, 
In  the  sunset's  golden  hair. 


This  is  hut  a  glimpse  beforehand, 
Of  the  glory  soon  to  be  ; 

But  a  foam-crest  on  the  shore-land 
Of  the  swelling  flora!  sea. 


As  the  tidal  wave  that  brought  it, 
Cast  it  on  the  snow-clad  beach, 

Out  I  sprang,  o'erjoyed,  and  caught  it, 
As  it  lay  there  just  in  reach. 


Long  1  stood  and  gazed  upon  it, 
And  I  heard, — "  This  trophy  send, 

With  the  spray  of  odor  on  it, 
To  thy  best  and  fairest  friend." 


96  LINES    WITH  A   BOUQUET. 

Thus  were  you  made  rightful  owner, 
Take  it  then,  nor  doubting  stand  ;— 

You  can  hardly  deem  me  donor, 
For,  you  see,  'tis  by  command. 

April  2,  1864. 


IN  THE  VALLEY,   OVER  THERE.       97 


t 

AM  sitting  on  the  border 

Of  a  river  deep  and  wide  ; 
S>  I  am  gazing  on  the  landscape 

That  is  on  the  other  side  ; 
I  can  see  the  Hash  and  glimmer 

Of  the  water-falls  and  streams, 
And  the  tinted  woods  all  shining 

In  the  sunset's  ruddy  beams  ; 
But  one  spot  in  vain  I  look  for — 

Spot  beloved  and  passing  fair — 
It  lies  just  beyond  the  woodland, 
In  the  valley,  over  there. 
9 


98       IN  THE    VALLEY,  OVER  THERE. 

1  have  seen  wild  brooks  meander, 

Where  the  willows  bent  above, 
And  the  sun-beams  dancing  through  them, 

Kissed  the  waves'  white  lips  in  love. 
I  have  seen  them  shine  and  sparkle 

Through  the  viny  groves  abroad, 
While  upon  their  grassy  borders, 

Bloomed  the  wild-flower  thoughts  of  God ; 
But  no  brook,  howe'er  it  charmed  me, 

For  a  moment  seemed  so  fair, 
As  the  brook  that  sings  all  summer, 

In  the  valley,  over  there. 


I  have  gazed  on  rural  dwellings, 
Twined  with  blooming  vines  about, 

Where  like  bright  eyes  seemed  the  windows, 
Through  green  lashes  glancing  out, 

While  the  breezes,  ne'er  delighted 
With  so  fair  a  scene  before, 


LV  THE  VALLEY,  OVER  THERE.       99 

Lingered  sporting 'mong  the  blossoms, 
That  were  sprinkled  round  the  door  ; 

Bnt  I  never  saw  a  dwelling, 
In  the  wide  world  anywhere, 

That  could  match  the  gothic  cottage, 
In  the  valley,  over  there. 


I  have  seen  the  northern  maiden 

Trip  the  green  fields  lightly  o'er, 
With  her  cheeks'  hue  only  equalled, 

By  the  rose-bud  wreath  she  were. 
I  have  seen  the  southern  beauty, 

On  her  moss  grown  arbor  seat, 
And  from  'mong  the  long,  dark  lashes, 

Caught  her  languid  glances  sweet ; 
But  I  ne'er  have  seen  a  maiden, 

With  such  mild  yet  queenly  air, 
As  the  maid  who=e  graces  charmed  me, 

Jn  the  valley,  over  there. 


100       IN  THE  VALLEY,  OVER  THERE. 

Often  when  the  breeze  was  sleeping, 

And  the  branches  ceased  to  stir, 
I  have  watched  the  little  rain-bow, 

O'er  the  water-fall  with  her  ; 
And  when  light  gave  place  to  darkness, 

And  the  twinkling  star-lamps  shone, 
'Mid  the  evening's  dewy  splendors, 

We  have  wandered  foith  alone, 
And  among  the  flowers  full  often, 

At  the  time  of  evening  prayer, 
Have  we  both  knelt  down  together, 

In  the  valley,  over  there. 


But  when  autumn's  magic  pencil, 
Tinted  all  the  trees  last  year, 

And  the  water-fall's  clear  mfosic 
Tinkled  sweetly  on  the  ear, 

And  the  leaves  began  to  settle, 
With  a  melancholy  sound, 


IN  THE  VALLEY,  OVER  THERE.     101 

From  the  zephyr-shaken  branches 

Of  the  forest  to  the  ground, 
Down  at  morn  there  came  an  angel ; 

Back  at  eve  returned  a  pair  ; 
And  a  shadow  darkly  settled 

In  the  valley,  over  there. 


And  as  often  now  I  linger, 

'Mid  the  scenes  I  used  to  love, 
Climbs  my  heart  upon  her  memory, 

Toward  her  dwelling  place  above, 
And  the  breezes,  wandering  sadly, 

'Along  the  russet,  gold,  and  flame 
Of  the  fields  and  waving  woodlands, 

Seem  to  murmur  forth  her  name, 
As  they  whisper  to  the  willows, 

Bending  downward  through  the  air, 
Toward  the  green  mound  and  the  marble, 

In  the  valley,  over  there. 

9* 


102  VOLNEY. 


|  IS  lamp  of  life  was  scarcely  lit, 
Ere  death  came  and  extinguished  it ; 
One  winter's  storm,  one    summer's 

bloom, 
Lay  'twixt  his  cradle  and  his  tomb. 


As  though  one  ray  of  light  at  dawn, 
Might  flash  on  earth  and  then  be  gone, 
And  darkened  leave  the  whole  extent, 
Just  so  his  presence  came  and  went. 


As  though  a  star  to  light  our  track, 

"Were  sent  from  heaven  and  straight  called 

back, 

Just  so  his  bright  and  cheering  smile, 
Shone  round  us  for  a  little  while. 


VOLNJEY.  103 

Just  as  a  bird  with  merry  time, 
Upon  a  sunny  morn  in  June, 
Appears  and  then  recedes  from  view, 
"With  pinions  fringed  with  silver  dew. 


So  he,  with  bright  wings  unrevealed, 
Which  all  too  soon  to  yon  fair  field, 
"Where  echoing  songs  harmonious  roll, 
Wafted  away  his  stainless  soul. 


104:      SOLDIER'S  EVENING   PRAYER. 


\xf$  feuiug  f 


JO  WN  beside  the  winding  river, 

Just  a  little  way  from  camp, 
Undisturbed  by  war's  wild  music, 

Drum-beat,  bugle-blast,  or  tramp  ; 
Floating  out  through  boughs,  and   grape- 

vines, 

Hanging  tangled  in  the  air, 
Came  the  low  and  earnest  accents 
Of  a  soldier's  evening  prayer. 

"Give  us  victory,  oh,  Father! 

Let  this  prayer  in  faith  addressed  —  " 
But  the  booming  of  a  cannon 

In  the  distance  drowned  the  rest  ; 


SOLDIERS  EVENING  PRAYER.      105 

And  the  drums'  tumultuous  rumble, 
And  the  bugles'  wrathful  blare, 

Mingled  with  the  last,  low  murmurs 
Of  the  soldier's  evening  prayer. 

Soon  in  line  was  formed  the  army  ; 

"  Forward  !"  sternly  sounded  out ; 
Forth  they  moved  and  met  the  traitors, 

Charged  upon  them  with  a  shout, 
And  the  mighty  God  of  battles, 

Guiding  on  'mid  crash  and  glare, 
Gave  them  victory  in  answer 

To  the  soldier's  evening  prayer. 


106  IN  MEMORIAM.—F.  B.  W. 


n  |Ucmimam,~|. 


HEN  the  showers  began  to  sparkle, 

In  the  zephyr's  balmy  trade, — 
When  the  Spring  was  sowing  roses, 
And  the  birds  were  coming  back  ; 
Fled  her  free  and  happy  spirit, 

Through  its  broken  prison  bars, 
From  her  homo  among  the  mountains, 
To  her  home  beyond  the  stars. 

I  am  mourning  in  the  shadow  ; 

She  is  singing  in  the  light ; 
I  am  waiting  for  the  angel 

That  has  called  her  ont  of  sight ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.—F.  B.  W.  107 

I  can  almost  hoar  the  music 

Of  her  happy  voice  above  ; 
In  my  soul  I  feel  the  sunshine, 

Of  her  melting  glance  of  love. 

To  the  place  where  she  is  sleeping, 

In  the  summer  time  I'll  go, 
And  I'll  plant  her  grave  with  roses, 

For  she  loved  the  roses  so, 
And  the  birds  will  come  and  linger 

In  the  willows  by  her  tomb, 
Mingling  music  with  the  odor 

Of  the  roses'  dewy  bloom. 


108  "PEACE,  BE  STILL? 


»  tilt." 


!  the  ship  is  moving  slowly 

From  the  shore  ; 
It  a  freight  more  pure  and  holy 
Never  bore. 


Mournfully  the  winds  are  sighing 
O'er  the  deep  ; 

But  the  weary  Master  's  lying, 
Fast  asleep. 

Storm  clouds  soon  begin  to  lower, 
Thick  and  dark, 

And  the  tempest  in  its  power, 

Heaves  the  bark 


"PEACE,  HE  STILL:*  109 

Soon  is  heard  the  thunder's  fright'ning 
Echoes  dread, 

And  doth  hiss  the  forked  lightning, 
Over  head. 


They  're  by  billows  swelling  under 
Hurled  amain, 

And  the  cords  are  snapped  asunder 
By  the  strain. 


Until  fearing  wild  disaster, 

Lo,  they  flee, 

Crying,  searching,  "  Where  's  the  Master ! 
Where  is  He  1" 


And  while  still  the  vessel 's  leaping, — 
Spreading  fear, 

Answer  comes,—"  The  Master 's  sleeping, 

Quiet  here." 
10 


110  "PtfACti,  BE  STILL." 

"  Oh  !  awake  Him,  then,  awake  Him  ;"- 
And  they  shrink, 

"  For  the  billows  wild  are  breaking, 
And  we  sink !" 


Mildly  rising  from  his  pillows, 
As  a  child, 

Gazed  He  on  the  roaring  billows, 
Calm  and  mild. 


Spake  He  then  to  storm  and  ocean, — 
"  Peace,  be  still !" 

And  they  ceased  their  wild  commotion 
At  His  will. 


Clouds  and  billows  ceased  to  wrestle, 
Wrapped  in  spray. 

And  a  light  breeze  bore  the  vessel 
On  its  way. 


JiATT'LE  HYMN.  Ill 


attfc 


E  'YE  left  our  dear  homes  and  the 
loved  ones  behind  us, 


The  husband  his   wife   and  the 

lover  his  maid, 
And  taken  the  post  by  our  country  assigned 

us, 
To  wield  to  defend   her  the  red  battle 

blade  ; 
So  for  death  we  '11  prepare  and  all  danger 

will  dare, 
As  we  march  on  to  battle,  and  when  we 

are  there, 

Together  we  '11  fight  and  the  victoiy  gain, 
Or  together  we  '11  die   on   the  red  battle 
plain. 


12  BATTLE  HYMN. 

"War's    crimson    billows    are    rolling    and 

bounding, 

And  hurling  their   spray  to  the  storm- 
shaken  sky  ; 
The  chargers  are  neighing,  the  cannons  are 

sounding, 
And  smoke- wreaths  are  angrily  wheeling 

on  high ; 

Then  let  us  away  without  further  delay, 
And  when  by  our  captain  we  're  led  to  the 

fray, 

Together  we  '11  fight  and  the  victory  gain, 
Or  together  we  '11  die  on  the  red  battle 
plain. 


LAUVIITER.  113 


toujtoter. 


/HE  smile  is  the  bud  of  the  full-blown 

laughter, 
The  bud  comes  first  and  the  bloom 

comes  after ; 
Down  in  the  heart  there  's  a  genius  lingers, 
With  leathery  ends  to  his  tickling  fingers, 
And  somewhere  there,  tho'  few  would  sup- 
pose it, 

Is  a  ticklish  spot  and  the  genius  knows  it  ; 
lie  's  a  funny  chap,  too  ;  yes,  very,  very, 
And  when  he 's  awake  he  is  always  merry  ; 
He  tickles  the  spot  whenever  he  pleases, 
And  sometimes  tickles  away  diseases  ; 
10* 


114  LAUGHTER. 

He  's  death  on  the  blues  and  opposed  to 

leanness, 
And  flies  from  the  heart  that  is  given  to 

meanness, 
And   in  the  heart   which    desertion   doth 

suffer, 
The    ticklish    spot    grows    tougher    and 

tougher, 

Till  after  a  while  it  is  perfectly  callous, 
And  the  victim  's  a  subject  half  fit  for  the 

gallows. 
The  tear-tide  of  sorrow  will  frequently  swell 

tho', 
And  threaten  to  drown  the  poor,  innocent 

fellow, 
And  this  thing  and  that  he  keeps  jumping 

up  on  to, 
Till  he  's  forced  to  clear  out  tho'  perhaps  he 

don't  want  to, 
When  thus  one' s  deserted  I  can't  but  admit 

he 


LAUGHTER.  115 

Is  fully  deserving  of  comfort  and  pity  ; 
And  then  in  the  world  I  have  come  across 

many, 
Who  've  no  ticklish  spot,  and  who  never 

had  any  ; 

Their  natures  are  sour  as  would  be  a  barrel 
Of  the  double-distilled  quintessence  of  sor- 
rel, 
Boiled   down  till  the  sour  of  that  whole 

amount  is 
Contained  in  a  vial  that  won't  hold  three 

ounces  ; 
Whoever  they   meet  they  seem  ready   to 

grapple, 
And  th«r  faces  resemble  a  frozen  thawed 

apple, 
From  the  lot  of  such  miserly,  mean,  sour, 

small  things, 
Deliver  my  body,  soul,  conscience  and  all 

things  ; 

I  'd   rather  be  nibbled  to  death  by 
keeters, 


116  LA  UGHTER. 

Or  any  other  species  of  human  kind  eaters, 
Than  carry  about  on  my  countenance  daily, 
A  frown  that  knocks  down  like  a  Paddy's 

shillelah. 

Some  fancy  it  is  the  external  surroundings 
That  tickle  one  more  than  internal  abound- 

ings, 
But  I  knew  a  man  once  who  an  hour  and 

a  half  sat, 
Laughing  and   laughing   with  nothing  to 

laugh  at, 

And  once  on  a  time  I  saw  rny  uncle  Sam'el 
Laugh,  with  his  eyes  shut  as  tight  as  a  clam 

shell  ; 
No  sound  was  heard,   even  the  jungle  of 

money, 
And  nothing  was  said  that  was  anyways 

funny, 
But  the  smiles  kept  coming  out  thicker  and 

thicker, 
Until  they  passed  into  a  kind  of  a  snicker, 


LAUGHTER.  117 

And  then  from  a  snicker  they  burst  out  in 

laughter, 
And  I  went  away  and  came  back  awhile 

after, 
And  as  tho'  something   had  of  his  reason 

bereft  him, 
lie  was  laughing  as  hard  as  he  was  when  I 

left  him. 
You  who  say  it 's  an   external  something 

that  does  it, 
If  that  wa'  n't  an  internal  something,  what 

was  it  ? 
The  genius  hears  things  that  I  have  n't  a 

doubt  of, 
The  eyes,  too,  I  fancy  he  sometimes  peeps 

out  of; 
I  can   not   believe  he  's  a   blind,   deaf,   or 

dumb  thing, 

He  hears  something,  sometimes,  and  some- 
times sees  something, 
And  when  its  a  something  which  pleases 

him  really, 


118  LAUGHTER. 

He  makes  you  laugh  harder  by  tickling 

more  freely. 
It 's  a  thing  which  it 's  well  to  indulge  in 

quite  often, 

The  spirits  to  raise  and  the  temper  to  soften, 
But  fearing  your  patience  I  'm  trespassing 

on  to, 
Til  stop  here  and  let  you  all  laugh  if  you 

want  to. 


THE  KISS  THAT  MY  LO  VE  GA  VE  ME.      119 


te  tfatt 


I    heard    on    the    morning 
breeze  the  sound 
Of  the  bugles'  martial  tone, 
Full  soon  were  my  farewells  whis- 
pered around, 

And  my  gun  on  my  shoulder  thrown  ; 
And  I  hastened  to  join  in  the  war's  wild 

storm, 

Where  the  crimson  tide  flowed  free, 
While  my  heart  was  sad,  for  my  lips  were 

warm 
With  the  kiss  that  my  love  gave  me. 


120      THE  KISS  THAT  MY  LOVE  OA  VE  ME. 

And  now  when  the  shock  of  battle  comes, 

'Mid  the  clouds  of  rolling  gloom  ; 
And  the  tramp  is  heard,  and  the  roll  of 
drums, 

And  the  cannon's  deep-toned  boom, 
It  will  nerve  my  arm  with  a  double  might, 

To  strike  fofthe  brave  and  free, 
To  think,  in  the  midst  of  the  raging  fight, 

Of  the  kiss  that  my  love  gave  me. 

And  when  I  shall  lie  on  the  crimson  sand, 

With  a  wound  in  my  bosom  deep, 
And  the  cold,  red  blade  in  my  unnerved 
hand, 

Which  the  harvest  of  death  helped  reap  ; 
I  will  feel  the  snapping  of  life's  last  link, 

With  a  heart  from  gloom  all  free, 
And  close  iny  eyes  with  a  smile,  as  I  think 

Of  the  kiss  that  my  love  gave  me. 


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